


Of Putsch and Promenade

by iviscrit



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Cute Ending, F/M, Workplace Relationship, baavira - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:43:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iviscrit/pseuds/iviscrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A presidential inauguration would be woefully incomplete without awkward press, superfluous dignitaries, and a first dance. Kuvira's inauguration as interim president has all three. Precursor Baavira.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Putsch and Promenade

"You look very nice tonight," Kuvira said quietly, inclining her head in his direction. "The most eligible bachelor of the Earth Kingdom."

"You look beautiful," Baatar said without thinking, a look of horror slowly registering on his face and tinting his complexion with a dull flush of embarrassment. "Which is to say... um.."

"Thank you," she said, taking his arm. "Let's find an enclave, we'll be expected to have our 'first dance' the longer we stay out here. Fielding the press in an hour will be bad enough."

The inauguration itself had been a simple ceremony, with the Zaofu state guard and the newly conscripted members of the army comprising the crowd in its entirety. Kuvira had not expected to become the interim president when her forces had first claimed the capitol, but as Baatar had later pointed out, it was really the most logical progression of events. “You’re the acting commander in-chief now,” he had said. “Basic political science, Kuvira. That’s how revolutions work. Hou Ting didn’t have a successor… of _course_ the head of the army fills the power vacuum.”

“The head of the army is the leader of the Royal Guard,” she had answered, standing alone save for him in the ransacked throne room, Raiko’s words from the radio call still ringing in her ears. The decadent furnishings were stripped down to nothing, the silk torn from the walls and the plush carpets long since hauled away. The throne itself had been melted down and taken by looters as the ultimate triumph over a dynasty of oppression. Part of her was saddened by the loss of national identity, but another part felt vindicated. This was how part of the country lived, while the rest were mired in destitution. “I didn’t… I’m not the head of the Royal Guard, I supplied backup--”

“They swore allegiance to you and to Zaofu,” Baatar had told her. “You command the Royal Guard, which means you command the national army. Don’t you see, Kuvira? The country is yours. Raiko’s just showing you that he’s on your side before anyone else, he wants to ally himself to you.”

“Ours,” she had said firmly, her mind stuck on _yours_. “It wouldn’t have happened without you.”

He had smiled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassed delight. “So since we won, I get to take you out now, right?”

Their first date had been quiet and secretive, with takeout from a casual Fire-Nation-inspired eatery and a spot on a grassy overhang with a view of the city at night. The stars overhead had been occluded by the smoke from the scrimmages and the dust from the damaged walls, but spending the evening with Baatar had made the sub-optimal state of their capital forgettable, for a little while. Now, at her inaugural ball, they were having their second date-- in front of the army, statesmen, and dignitaries from the United Republic. “You said we’d be taking this slow,” Kuvira had reproached him, checking in before they made their entrance. “Now you’re my date to the afterparty? The afterparty the state really doesn’t have the resources to throw?”

“I’m sorry!” he had said. “Look, no one needs to know. You named me your vice president when you were sworn in. It’s normal for us to attend together, and I won’t so much as look at you. They won’t have any reason for suspicion.”

“No, we need to project unity… I just hope we aren’t subjected to a first dance, that’s reserved for a married couple in this setting..” she had muttered.

“But tradition is important to legitimize your rule,” he had said as they waited in the wings for his cue to enter. “If we have to, I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

“Thank you.”

The entrance was anticlimactic enough. Baatar introduced her, Kuvira welcomed the attendees with few words and politely clipped gestures, thanking the world leaders in attendance and trying to let her misgivings about Raiko contracting her presidency fade away. The formalities over, she and Baatar melted into the crowd, their security detail within easy reach. If there ever was a time to attempt a double assassination, it would be then.

“Walk with me,” Kuvira murmured, her hold on his arm tightening. Her crisp tone didn’t match the swish of fabric that softened her movements, nor the guarded expression in her eyes. At first glance she looked right at home in the opulent setting, dark hair twisted off her neck in a braided coil and twin wings of eyeliner blended into her lashline. She had worn her dress uniform to the inauguration, but had opted for a simple evening dress for the nighttime festivities. Intricate silver threadwork covered the black bodice, while the skirt fell to her feet like a liquid column of deep green. It was simple, leaving her arms bare and with a small keyhole at the neck, but more than she felt the occasion warranted. But the nation was in a time of economic hardship, and so Baatar’s proposal of commissioning the dress to ‘boost the economy’ had been hard to argue.

“Of course,” he said. “Too many people around,” he added in an undertone, taking in the sight of reporters and Ba Sing Se statesmen alike who filled the small hall. The inaugural gala was being held in one of the few palace rooms that had escaped the looting, with plush green carpets rolled back to expose travetine tile and marble inlay. The chandeliers overhead were wrought from metal skeletons and blown glass light fixtures, while wall sconces were plated in gold and bore green crystal shards as their light sources. “You might want to let go of my arm,” he added, though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic.

“I will when I think it’s appropriate to,” she said quietly. They were the correct age for suspicion to run rampant. More than once, she had been asked by her fellow officers if she and Baatar were dating at last. At last, as though they hadn’t in Zaofu. Walking with him through a floor crowded with press felt frighteningly natural, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to untether her hand from his arm.

“Great Uniter!” An eager reporter detached himself from the crowd, surprising them with the flash of a bulb that heralded a photo’s capture. Kuvira’s fingers slipped from his arm.

“Yes?”

“Oh,” the reporter said, a funny look to his face. “I thought the Beifong family's representative had been inaugurated… I’m from Republic City, and thought--”

“Incorrectly,” she said, her voice as steely as the pin she wore on her chest. She adjusted the insignia of the Metal Clan, her eyes hardening. “You had a question for me?”

“Sure,” the reporter said. “So, Kuvira… what’s the relationship here? Engaged, or involved, or…?”

“My only pressing engagement at this point in time is running my country,” she said coolly. “With my vice president’s help, I anticipate fulfilling my promises for the coming three-year term in office.”

The silence that followed was awkward; the buzz of the gala around them seemed inconsequential. “Apologies, Great Uniter.”

“‘President’ is also fitting,” she said, taking Baatar’s arm again. “I’m the Great Uniter to my people, not to foreign sycophants. Walk with me,” she added in an undertone, and steered Baatar away to a secluded, curtained area.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “But you handled it so well, I don’t think you need to worry about them assuming the Beifongs are the ones in power--”

“I don’t care,” she said, falling silent and listening to the strings ensemble play a patriotic march. Her hand slid down his arm to his fingers, and she felt him tense under her touch.

Through the gauzy curtain, they could make out the swishing skirts and dark suits coupling up to dance as the night wore on. “We’ve escaped a first dance,” he said softly. “See? You worried for nothing.”

“Did you want to dance? You sound disappointed.”

“I’ve missed watching you,” Baatar said after some time. “I don’t need to make a spectacle of us, though.”

“We don’t need to. We just need the right music…”

The ensemble struck up a suite in three-four time, and she moved across the tiled floor like silk, feet skimming the ground like a seabird skimming surf as it takes off from the ocean. Her movements were distilled emotion, framed against a backdrop of watching officials and dimmed lights. Baatar found it hard to keep up and contented himself with letting her lead, swaying in place more often than not and moving with subtle prompting, sparing them embarrassment as her body tensed and relaxed. She held certain lines a fraction of a beat longer than necessary, giving her dancing the impression of stylized art unfolding in front of all the guests assembled. In that moment, it felt like they were the only two there. Watching Kuvira dance was like watching emotion overflow from a reservoir thirteen years in the making, a soliloquy expressed through body language by a woman who had rendered her face mute years ago.

“Good,” she said, leaning against the wall with him and her eyes fixed on a point she couldn’t see. “Congratulations, we’ve had our first dance as the leaders of state.”

“To many more.”

“What?”

“To many more,” Baatar repeated. “To repeated elections, and inaugurations and the galas that come with them, and to many more first dances.” He hesitated before taking her hand, pausing with it halfway between them. “To a lifetime of your leadership, Kuvira.”

“Not mine,” she said, surprising them both by gently prompting her hand to his lips. “Never mine. Ours.”

He smiled, and she could feel his hand tremble in hers with what she could only assume to be delight. “Yes. To a lifetime of _our_ leadership.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written live for terra-7 because Lord knows we don't nerd out about Baavira enough. XD Hope y'all liked!


End file.
